


Friends... or something like that

by LondonGypsy



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: Attraction, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Insecurity, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Realization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:57:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5216999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Amazing how fire exposes our priorities." - Sherlock Holmes (A Scandal In Belgravia) </p>
<p>In this case it's an explosion, showing Vincent D'Agosta and Aloysius Pendergast that they are more to each other than just mere friends.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends... or something like that

**Author's Note:**

> This will evolve a bit more; tags will be added; in the end it'll be somewhat between mature/explicit to proceed with caution! 
> 
> Many thanks to [IDontMindSpiders](http://idontmindspiders.tumblr.com/) for the superquick beta and the great suggestions.   
> Any remaining mistakes are mine.   
> Only borrowing the boys from the Gents; I'll return them mostly undamaged when I'm done with them.

Vincent D'Agosta stormed past Proctor, who finally opened after repeated banging against the heavy door of the Riverside Drive mansion.

"Where is he?" D'Agosta barked, barely stopping to wait for an answer. He stormed down the hall, past the dark cases with the strange contents, and all but kicked open the door to the library.

He scanned the dim room with wild eyes, quickly finding what he was looking for.

"You fucking bastard," he snarled as he slammed the door shut so hard it rattled in its frame.

Special Agent Aloysius Pendergast, sitting in a large wingchair by the fire, looked up, a mild curiosity on his bruised face. His feet were resting on a small footstool, a light blanket covering his legs. He lowered his book, icy blue eyes bright even in the low lights.

"Good evening to you too, Vincent," he said softly, a hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Don't you 'good evening' me, you ass," D'Agosta growled, "how dare you to almost get killed and not even bother to tell me?"

The searing anger that had been bubbling below the surface finally broke free. It was coursing through his veins and his voice rose as he stalked towards the agent. "Which isn’t  even the worst," his voice growing, "no, I'm used to that. No, what's worse is that I have to hear it from my boss. My BOSS, who couldn't care less about your well-being."

He was yelling now. He didn't care. "Am I not worth telling anymore? Who the fuck do you think I am? A fucking errand boy?"

The last he spat out like a curse, staring at Pendergast who watched his outbreak with a calmness that sent D'Agosta's blood pressure into unknown heights.

"Apparently so, 'cause you don't even deem it necessary to let me know that you almost got ripped apart by a fucking bomb DAYS AGO," D'Agosta bellowed, hands curled into fists by his side, barely able to suppress the urge to punch the other man.

He stood there, panting, blood rushing loudly in his ears, his heart hammering. Faintly he realized that he had to calm down - his heart wasn't as strong as it used to be, and he had to be careful. Right now though, he wasn't able to do so. Too many terrible scenarios had been playing out in his mind ever since he found out, things that would probably haunt his nightmares for weeks to come.

"You asshole," he hissed furiously, his sight suddenly becoming blurry, "you could've at least... at least..." he stuttered, not able to express himself.

And before he even made the conscious decision, he knelt next to the chair and pulled Pendergast into a tight bearhug. He didn't hear the man's pained groans; he only felt his lean form warm, solid and _alive_. A deep gratitude washed over him, dulling the roaring anger a little.

"Don't fucking do that again," he muttered breathlessly, tightening his hold on the other man.

"I appreciate your worries, Vincent," Pendergast gasped, "but if you could let go, my ribs are still a bit sore."

The words only slowly reached D'Agosta, and it took him a great amount of willpower to let go. Pendergast slumped back, taking a few deep breaths while D'Agosta stumbled to the other chair, falling back into it.

"Sorry," he mumbled as he saw the pained expression on Pendergast's face even though he didn’t really feel apologetic.

Silence fell, only broken by the crackling of wood in the fireplace and their heavy breathing. D'Agosta let his gaze run over Pendergast, who was obviously trying to breathe the pain away. He looked horrible, the numerous bruises on his face and neck hadn't start to fade yet, and stood out dark against his pale skin. D'Agosta hadn't seen the man this beat up before, and he shivered, thinking what could have happened to him. But the steady up and down of his chest was a calming sight, and D'Agosta was finally able to think more clearly.

His mind had been a mess ever since the Commissioner had casually woven the news into their last conversation. Just thinking back at that made his pulse spike again.

"I need a drink," he said harshly. Without waiting for a reply, he stood and walked over to the bar, pouring himself a generous whisky. He drained the glass in one long gulp, poured another and on stiff legs walked back to sit down.

"Make yourself at home," Pendergast drawled ironically, his accent thick as honey, yet his tone lacked the usual sharpness - he only sounded tired.

D'Agosta leaned forward, for the first time noticing the widened pupils and the fine sheen of sweat on the agent's face. And with shock he realized that the other man was as drugged up as one could be while still awake. Nevertheless, he was still highly alert, his eyes scanning over D'Agosta's face, not missing the regret that must have showed there, because he smiled. Weak, and gone in a heartbeat, but it shot a mix of hot thankfulness and remorse through D'Agosta.

"Fuck," he said, "I'm really sorry. Didn't mean to...,"  His voice trailed off, and he looked away. The last thing he needed was Pendergast see him losing it more than he'd already done.

"I have to apologize," Pendergast eventually said, breaking the silence, "I didn't know you would be so affected."

D'Agosta snorted.

"Yeah well, that's what friends do." he grunted, "Normally that is. Clearly I've overestimated our friendship."

The searing feeling inside him didn't dissipate, and suddenly he realized it wasn't anger. It was hurt. Painful and raw. His hands curled into fists again, willing away the emotions that were threatening to overwhelm him.

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw Pendergast stiffen, and then heard a harsh inhale.

As D'Agosta looked up, slowly, reluctantly, the expression on Pendergast's face took his breath away. He saw surprise in wide silvery eyes, something that he'd never seen before. He also saw a brief moment of confusion, and then a sudden realization.

It was mesmerizing; D'Agosta was unable to tear his gaze away.

Pendergast's overly bright eyes were suddenly sharp and focused, and D'Agosta felt exposed. He schooled his face into something less compromising, willed his hammering pulse to slow, and hoped that Pendergast’s excellent people reading skills were diminished for once.  

D’Agosta knew why he had overreacted like this. He had known for a while now. It hadn’t been easy to come to terms with the fact that he was attracted to the man. There was no way to ignore it, but he wasn’t about to do anything about it. He knew  Pendergast would never be  interested in someone like him. Over time he had made his peace with it. He valued Pendergast's friendship; being around him - as a friend - that was enough. He didn't want to complicate, or even ruin it, by admitting that he had feelings that went far beyond a normal friendship.

But now, under the omniscient scrutiny of those blue eyes, he started to wonder - the way Pendergast watched him, the softness in the usually hard gaze, the faint flush on his pale face…

No. D’Agosta shook his head, crushed the flare of hope in his chest. It couldn’t be.

He took another drink, sinking back further into the chair, exhaling heavily.

“I worry about you whether you like it or not,”  D'Agosta said coolly, "especially when you run off on your own and don’t tell me that you almost got blown up. What the hell happened?"

Pendergast's brows furrowed at that more than obvious change of subject, but he went with it, another sign that he wasn't himself right now.

"I got a call from an old family acquaintance back in New Orleans," he said, his mellow voice calming D’Agosta’s frayed nerves. He settled back, taking a sip of his drink and listened.

He deliberately ignored the faint ache in his heart.

***

"...and here I am, battered and a bit bruised around the edges but alive." Pendergast ended with a flourish so untypical for him, that D'Agosta couldn't help but smile.

The fire had burned down, the glowing embers casting odd shadows over both men. Pendergast grimaced as he shifted in his seat, the forgotten book in his lap falling to the floor with a thud. The sound pulled D'Agosta back into reality.

"Why didn't you call me?" he asked quietly, "I could've helped you."

"My, ah, methods have caused you too much trouble already. I thought I could handle this on my own. I didn't-"

"Don't do this," D'Agosta interrupted, standing up, "you know I'll help whenever I can." He picked up the book and laid it on the small table next to Pendergast's chair. "Don't exclude me." His voice broke and he stopped talking; there were too many things he wanted to say, wanted to, but never could, without revealing his feelings.

A hesitant touch to his hand pulled his gaze down.

"I didn't want to get you into danger," Pendergast murmured unusually gently, looking up at D'Agosta with a fondness that shot a sharp pang through his stomach.

"I can handle it," he grumbled, overly aware of Pendergast’s fingers holding on to the tips of his own. Their eyes met for a brief moment. D’Agosta thought he could see something akin to affection in the depth of those silvery pools, but Pendergast looked away, the flush on his cheeks deepening.

"I can't." Pendergast's voice was barely above a whisper.

D’Agosta flinched; he’d never heard him like this. His heart started beating faster again.

"Can't what?" D'Agosta asked a bit breathlessly, studying Pendergast’s features closely. His face was too vulnerable, his expression too open, too soft. It must be the drugs, D’Agosta told himself.  It had to be.  
Yet he was spellbound, not able to move a muscle.

Pendergast shook his head, almost imperceptibly, not answering. He shifted his legs on the stool, motioning D'Agosta to sit, who sank helplessly on the hard leather.

For a moment neither of them moved.

Then Pendergast reached out and - very gently - took one of D'Agosta's hands in his. It was warm, warmer than D'Agosta had expected, and strong - he could feel the tendons beneath the skin shifting as Pendergast carefully laid his other hand on top, trapping D'Agosta's between his palms.

“You’re not just a friend” Pendergast said, some of his sharpness returning to his voice, “‘ _friends_ ’ don’t storm into another man’s home like this.”

D’Agosta opened his mouth to protest but Pendergast shook his head, silenced him with a squeeze of his hands.

"There’s something you need to know, so please listen carefully. I learned very early on not to trust people. They lie, they betray, and they exploit. As I’m sure you know, there are only a handful people I can trust. Yet I share very little with them, I still can’t bring myself to  give away too much. It’s the only way to keep them, and myself, safe, so they can't get hurt, can't be used against me. It is a vital necessity in my line of work. Call it self preservation if you may.”  Pendergast's words were soft, spoken hesitantly into the small space between them. His gaze was hazy, unfocused, and as he started talking again, it was as if he was talking to himself.

“But in the past few months I have let my guards down. I have compromised my very own regulations, have exposed myself to the one subject I vowed to never again fall victim to. I ignored it, distracted myself with work. This last case seemed to be just what I needed. So I excluded myself from everything to concentrate fully on my task.”

D’Agosta remembered just too well. The agent had been hard to get a hold on. Which in itself wasn’t that unusual but there had been a difference this time. He hadn’t returned any of his calls, and whenever D’Agosta had come by, he had been cold and distant, and more than once had very clearly told him to leave. D’Agosta had tried to blame it all on the case.

“I was deeply mistaken.”

D’Agosta made a startled sound, torn from his miserable memories.

Pendergast smiled unhappily, nodding curtly.

“It happens,” he said, “and I’m not used to it.”

He fell silent, but D’Agosta knew him well enough to see that he was considering his next words carefully. He waited, not realizing that he was holding his breath.

There was something between them, something he never dared dreaming about, and he feared that a wrong movement or word would shatter the moment.

"Vincent," Pendergast started, "I-" he stopped, clearing his throat before he looked up, his gaze searching for D'Agosta's. "You rarely find me at a loss for words and yet I don't know how to say this."

"Say what?" he asked hoarsely, holding Pendergast’s gaze.

"How I feel about you." He almost didn't hear Pendergast's words as they were spoken so very quietly that he had to lean in to hear him.

All at once, he realized that he was only mere inches away from Pendergast's face. He could feel his elevated breath and the warmth he was radiating. His whirring thoughts screeched to a halt.

"How...what?" he croaked confused, his heart pounding heavily in his chest. Pendergast's eyes were only a blurred mix of blue. The tiny spark of hope started burning brighter.

"I tried to ignore it" Pendergast murmured, the words ghosting warm over D'Agosta's lips, "and no matter how much I am in control of myself, I cannot control this."

His nose brushed ever so lightly against D'Agosta's who couldn't help the shiver that shook his body at the touch.

“Oh?” he breathed, "control what?" He was dizzy from the closeness of the other man.

He could lean in, didn't even have to move much, and he could press his lips against Pendergast's, could kiss him like he so often dreamed about. Slowly at first, only a tentative touch to get used to the softness he was sure was there. And then-

The gentle squeeze of his hand quickly brought him back to reality.

"My heart," Pendergast whispered, the words more sensation than sound, _"the heart wants what it wants, or else it does not care`._  And there’s nothing that can stop it. No cases, not even the strongest of willpower can stop what’s the most irrational and inexplicable concept in human nature. Believe me, I tried.”

He swallowed hard, his hands around D’Agosta’s slightly trembling.

“Despite the fact that I rejected your help, rejected _you_ on numerous occasions, you always returned, always kept trying. And for once I abandoned everything I held above the so called matters of the heart. I looked closer, and then I saw it. I have been watching you, Vincent, have observed you, and I've come to the conclusion that-" he hesitated, exhaling shakily before he continued. "I have been wrong on occasions, have assessed situations wrongly. If I'm wrong now..." his voice trailed off, his fingertips on D'Agosta's skin left a burning trail as he unconsciously caressed it.

"When have you ever been wrong?" D'Agosta asked, hope audibly lacing his words. His pulse was racing and he knew Pendergast could feel it: his fingertips were resting just above his pulse point.

"Very rarely," was the quiet reply, "but it happens."

They were drowning in each other's eyes. D'Agosta faintly noticed that he had threaded his fingers with Pendergast's, holding on for dear life. His other hand was creeping up the side of the chair, coming to rest on Pendergast's biceps.

"What makes you think you’re wrong this time?" D'Agosta had difficulty concentrating, his hand sliding over Pendergast's arm, feeling his hard muscles shift under his touch.

"I may have been prejudiced." Pendergast whispered, biting his lip as D'Agosta's hand reached his neck, very carefully avoiding the dark bruise covering his white skin there.

"You are?" D'Agosta asked huskily, tangling oversensitive fingers in fine blond hair.

"I am. Very much so. One also has to leave room for miscalculation." Pendergast's lids fluttered and the softest of moans slipped past his lips as he leaned into D'Agosta's touch.

The sound shot through D'Agosta like electricity, vibrating through every single nerve, and he grit his teeth at the wave of arousal surging through his veins.

"There may be misjudgments," Pendergast murmured, another quiet moan rumbling through his chest.

D'Agosta's entire body was trembling and he wanted nothing more than to pull the other man close, smash their lips together and kiss until they were both out of breath. But he had seen the deep cut in Pendergast's lower lip and the dark bruise on his cheek. And despite the overwhelming desire coursing through his blood, he held back.

It didn't stop him from running his fingers through Pendergast's hair, relishing the silky feeling of it. Moving down Pendergast's neck, he cupped his sharp jaw, his thumb inevitably drawn to slightly parted lips. Very gently he touched it to the deep cut just at the corner of his mouth.

"I think-" He groaned helplessly as the wet tip of Pendergast's tongue flickered against his skin.

"Yes?" Pendergast inquired hoarsely, shifting in his seat, darkened eyes blurring as he leaned even closer.

D'Agosta swallowed hard but tried to collect himself enough to finish the sentence.

"I think your judgement is just fine."

Pendergast exhaled sharply. For a few long seconds they stared at each other motionlessly, the air incredibly charged. And then D'Agosta swiped his thumb over Pendergast's lower lip, eliciting the most erotic sound he'd ever heard.

It was too much, all his barely contained self control faltered.

The noise coming from his throat was loud and needy, as he leaned in, sealing his lips over Pendergast's mouth which instantly opened for him. He dove into the heat, gasping in shock as Pendergast immediately took control.

And then there was no more holding back, no more teasing - Pendergast kissed with such hunger and such urge D'Agosta's heart stumbled. He quickly recovered and returned the kiss, any control he had maintained crumbling at the first hot touch of Pendergast's tongue.

He lost himself in the hypnotic swirl and the broken moans filling his ears and his mind; his fingers dug into heated skin and hard muscles, not caring about hurting the other man anymore. He unleashed all his pent-up longing, all the burning desire into the kiss, desperate to touch and be touched.

Pendergast clung to him, pressing his chest against his, arms snaking around his waist. Rumbling moans vibrated through his lithe frame and it made D'Agosta's toes curl with pleasure.

Panting heavily, they broke away after an eternity, their lips only inches apart as if afraid to put too much space between them.

D'Agosta licked his lips, groaning at the taste of green tea and sweet pastry. A muffled sound had him open his eyes only to lose himself in a blaze of silver and blue.

"If I wouldn't hurt basically everywhere I'd have you right here, on this very floor," Pendergast growled, his southern accent drawn out, and so thick it shot a new wave of arousal through D'Agosta.

"Don't say shit like that," D'Agosta all but whimpered, overly aware of the rapidly growing erection in his jeans.

Pendergast chuckled lowly, pressing a lingering kiss on D'Agosta's mouth.

"Why not? It's the truth. I'm considering to-"

D'Agosta laid a shaking finger over Pendergast's lips.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. As much as I want to take you up on that offer, I will not be responsible for ruptured stitches. Even though it's damn hard."

Pendergast rose an elegant eyebrow at that, permeating irony without saying a word. Belated D'Agosta noticed what he had just said and he awkwardly cleared his throat, looking away.

"No, don't do that," Pendergast said, his long fingers touching his chin, turning his head back. "Now that I can finally look at you like I want to, I don't want to miss one moment."

D'Agosta sighed as those gorgeous digits caressed his face, slid over his neck and over his shoulder. His own hands itched with the need to touch and so he let fingers travel over sharp features, broad shoulders before he returned to outline a delicate ear. They were both overly aware of the promises in their touches, and even though D'Agosta's pants were still painfully tight, he didn't do anything to take this further. It was difficult but as he had said, he didn't want to cause the other man more pain that he had already endured.

Although by the noises Pendergast was making - breathy gasps and broken moans - he was just as affected as D'Agosta was.

"We really need to stop," D'Agosta eventually said, stopping Pendergast's palm from sliding further up on his thigh. He exhaled shuddery and shifted away from those clever hands.

Pendergast's eyes narrowed, and for a moment he reminded D'Agosta of tiger, ready to pounce. But he dutifully let go of D'Agosta, leaning back in his chair. He folded his hands on his stomach, just above the very visible proof that he wasn't as calm as he seemed.

It took D'Agosta all his willpower to tear his gaze away.

"Now what?" Pendergast asked, his voice betraying absolutely nothing. If it weren't for his disheveled hair and his thoroughly kissed lips, D'Agosta could've sworn he'd dreamed up the entire thing.

Before he could think of an answer there was a knock at the door and it opened. Proctor walked in, stoic as always, his eyes trained on Pendergast, completely ignoring D'Agosta.

"Do you need anything else, Sir? Otherwise I would go to bed."

Pendergast shook his head.

"No, thank you, Proctor. I have everything I need."

His gaze found D'Agosta's, a tender smile playing over his lips.

"Very well. Good night, Sir."

And without another word he retreated and closed the door behind him again.

D'Agosta looked at Pendergast who returned the look, and they both started chuckling.

"I should go home then," D'Agosta said, reluctantly standing up, "you need rest."

Pendergast watched him, and then he reached out and took his hand.

"Stay," he said, "now that I-," he hesitated for a moment.

D'Agosta felt a sting in his heart at the painful expression flitting over the other man's face; it was gone quickly but for that brief moment he could read so much in it.

"Now that you have me?" he suggested quietly, ignoring the lump in his throat. He knew how Pendergast felt. He wanted to stay, just look at him now that he was allowed to.

Pendergast nodded. "You can have your own bedroom. If you deem that necessary", he added hastily, "but I'd rather have you here. With me."

D'Agosta smirked at first but as he saw the unconcealed longing in Pendergast's face, it faltered and he nodded.

"I don't think that will be necessary," he said, "we're both grown men."

He was still aroused, but he also knew that he could ignore it for the time being. Pendergast's nearness was more important. He could control himself for as long as he had to - almost having lost the man had put things in perspective.

"At least I can have an eye on you like this," he grinned yet it fell flat as his voice shook. "Just don't do anything like this again, okay?" He swallowed, blinking rapidly.

"I will try," Pendergast said solemnly, pushing the blanket away. "Would you help me, please?"

D'Agosta hurried to pull him up, wrapping an arm around Pendergast's lean frame, steadying him. The man was surprisingly off balance, swaying heavily.

"Geez, what did you take?" D'Agosta frowned as they slowly made their way towards the door.

"It's helping with the pain" Pendergast said, leaning into D'Agosta's grip, "that's all you need to know."

D'Agosta made a disapproving sound but didn't reply.

Together they walked down the hall, and up a flight of stairs until they came to Pendergast's bedroom. They stopped at the door.

"There's another bedroom just across from mine," Pendergast said slowly, searching D'Agosta's eyes.

"Do you want me to take it?" D'Agosta asked, returning the look calmly.

"No."

"Then I won't need it."

Pendergast quirked a lopsided smile, leaned closer and kissed D'Agosta chastely on the mouth.

"Let's go to bed."


End file.
